


What's Mine Is Yours

by GooberFeesh



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Series, Tickle Fights, Victor gets a booboo, Yuuri panics, but they're still cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8956792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberFeesh/pseuds/GooberFeesh
Summary: Yuuri starts to wonder how anyone could ever hope to have such expensive taste, but then he remembers that the apartment belongs to Victor Nikiforov, five-time gold medalist and living legend, and everything makes sense.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I desperately needed some domestic fluff after the last episode, so here we have Yuuri arriving at Victor's apartment. Also, RIP Victor's nose. :'D

Like the vast country of Russia itself, Victor’s apartment is _huge_.   
  
Not only is it huge, but it’s also nicer and far more modern than any dwelling Yuuri has ever set foot in. He spends the first fifteen minutes after his arrival gaping at the impressive monochrome decor: the contemporary couch Makkachin is currently sleeping on, the large silvery kitchen and its shiny appliances, and the floor-length steel window that overlooks one of St. Petersburg’s many bustling and snowy streets.  
  
Yuuri’s so lost in his awed observations that he fails to notice two long arms snaking around his waist until he’s pulled back against Victor’s firm, toned chest. A chin shelves itself along his shoulder and a lovesick voice sighs into his ear.  
  
“You live here now, too.”  
  
Yuuri swallows and nods. “Yeah. I do.”  
  
Even though a separate apartment had been discussed for the sake of considering it, Victor was adamant about hosting Yuuri personally as he trained overseas. It was only fair, after all, considering how Yuuri’s family had let him stay at the hot springs during their time in Japan. Now Victor wants more than anything to return the favor and see that Yuuri is properly housed, fed, and taken care of.  
  
“Would you like to see your bedroom?” Victor asks in an intentionally lowered tone while feathering his lips against Yuuri’s blushing cheek.  
  
“S-sure,” Yuuri manages to sputter, flustered at the intimacy Victor carries in his words.  
  
Victor releases him, though he grabs Yuuri’s hand and keeps it in his own as they start to head down the hallway towards the rooms. There’s portraits and paintings hung up on the walls - some recognizable and famous, others more abstract - but Yuuri doesn’t have much time to look, because Victor opens up a door and gently ushers him inside.  
  
Yuuri doesn’t bother stopping his jaw from dropping open as he takes in the image of what could easily be two rooms instead of one. The amount of space is ridiculous, but it’s also equally balanced with beautiful (and probably super pricey) furnishings. Yuuri starts to wonder how anyone could ever _hope_  to have such expensive taste, but then he remembers that the apartment belongs to Victor Nikiforov, five-time gold medalist and living legend, and everything makes sense.  
  
“Do you like it~?” Victor singsongs, stepping into the room. “You should have everything you need, and if you don’t just let me know and I’ll make sure you get it. I want my Yuuri to be as comfortable as possible.”  
  
Something warm blooms in Yuuri’s chest. “Thank you. Seriously, this is way more than enough, and I really don’t think I’ll need—hey, wait a second…”  
  
Yuuri’s roaming gaze finds a plush and pampered dog bed sitting off to the side, and considering that Makkachin only ever sleeps with Victor there can only be one explanation why the dog bed is even in the room to begin with.  
  
“Victor, is this _your_ room?”  
  
“Ah-ah!” the older man chides, approaching Yuuri and booping his cheek with a fingertip playfully. “This is _our_ room.”  
  
How Yuuri didn’t see that coming, he doesn’t know. Of **course** Victor would insist on sharing a room when he’s got two others that are unoccupied. Why would Yuuri waste time and think otherwise? His expression must not be the one Victor was hoping for, because his partner’s smiles fades and his bright blue eyes grow concerned.  
  
“You don’t like it…?”  
  
“Wh-what? No! Nonononono!” Yuuri nudges his backpack off his shoulder and brings his hands up, where they grab onto either side of Victor’s face. “Victor, this is just—I mean, it’s a lot to take in. A new place, a new life… I still feel like it’s too good to be true. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy. In fact, I’m really _really_ happy, okay?” He smiles genuinely here, hoping that Victor will see the truth behind his confession. “I guess I just need to get used to a few things. That’s all.”  
  
Victor returns the smile and leans in, pecking Yuuri sweetly on the mouth. He then wraps Yuuri up in one of their snug, cozy hugs. His innocence wanes, however, when a more devious idea comes to mind. “…How about you get used to the _bed_ first?”  
  
“The bed? Why would I— _GAACKK!_ **VICTOR. PUT ME DOWN!** ”  
  
Far too quickly to deflect or flee, Yuuri is ceremoniously swept into Victor’s arms, bridal-style, and carried over to the bed, where he’s gently set amidst the soft bedspread like a princess. Although, Yuuri resembles more of a scared cat than a fair maiden at the moment, with his black hair sticking up, his glasses crookedly diagonal, and his nails digging into the covers for dear life.  
  
Victor holds out his arms and falls back, landing beside Yuuri along the cushioned mattress that he practically sinks into. “Ahhhh, so soft~”  
  
Yuuri fixes his glasses back into place and releases his death grip on the bed; the sheets are creased where his fingers were clenching, and he smooths the wrinkles away while quietly agreeing: “It _is_ pretty soft.”  
  
Victor props himself up on his elbows and looks at Yuuri. His lover is far too tense, which simply will not do, so in an effort to lighten the mood, as well as lighten Yuuri himself up, he begins to walk two mischievous fingers across the bed, as if they were a pair of tiny legs.  
  
Yuuri sees the fingers and watches them closely as they walk up his knee, his thigh, and then his hip. They stop at the center of his ribcage, which sends cold pangs of dread racing through Yuuri as he slowly pieces together what’s going on.  
  
“V-Victor…what are you—”  
  
But it’s too late, because the next thing Yuuri knows he’s on his back, laughing until he’s practically _crying_ , as Victor straddles and mercilessly tickles him into oblivion. He’s howling for the Russian to stop, that he can’t **take** any more, but his cries and kicks and pealing squeals only encourage Victor to keep going. So he does. He scatters his spiderish fingers along Yuuri’s sides and thighs and easily evades Yuuri’s retaliating hands as they try to tickle him back.  
  
It’s only when, by complete and unfortunate accident, Yuuri’s radial bone swiftly collides with Victor’s nose that the impromptu tickle war comes to a screeching halt. Clearly years of professional figure skating and excellent reflexes mean nothing when it comes to dodging a rogue wrist.  
  
Victor falls off to the side, clutching his face and hissing, while Yuuri instantly shoots up and launches into hysterics. “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD. I’m SO sorry!!! Victor, oh my God. Are you okay?! Did I break anything?! Are you bleeding??! What’s the Russian equivalent of 911??!”  
  
The questions keep coming like river rapids without a breath in between, and it isn’t long before Yuuri starts to slowly hyperventilate. He stops, though, when he feels a steadying hand grab onto his arm. It’s enough to relieve him as he glances at the arm and then back at Victor, who still has his free hand spread over his face.  
  
“I’b fide, Yuuri.”  
  
The response sounds muffled and stuffy, but Yuuri imagines it’s because Victor has his hand smooshed over his nose and not because his nasal passages are flooded with bloo—he sways at the horrifying thought, willing the terrible mental image to disappear. Either way, he needs to know how bad the damage is.  
  
“Can I see?”  
  
Victor sits up and slowly lowers his hand away from his face. He isn’t bleeding - thank GOODNESS - but his nose is red and tender, and now that his hand is out of the way Yuuri sees that Victor’s eyes are flooded with tears. Had he really made Victor cry? _Again?_ As if things couldn’t be any more depressing right now…  
  
Yuuri bites his lip and feels his own eyes prick with familiar liquid warmth. “I’m so sorry,” he says, ready to buy a plane ticket back to Japan.  
  
Victor chuckles and wipes at his eyes. “You’re sorry for hitting me by accident when you asked me to stop tickling you and I didn’t?” He wants Yuuri to see that if it’s anyone’s fault it’s Victor’s and not his.  
  
Yuuri’s shoulders slump. “I still feel bad about it,” he admits, and then thinks aloud. “Maybe we should put some ice on it? So that it doesn’t swell.”  
  
Victor gets up from the bed and holds out a hand to Yuuri, who takes it. They start to leave the room together before Victor leans over and points out: “I still think you need to get used to the bed first. I have a feeling we’ll be spending a lot of time there…”  
  
Yuuri doesn’t say anything, but the way his hand tightens around Victor’s suggests that he finds the statement very, very appealing.


End file.
